Pair Dadeni @octaveaboveoctave - Tumblr Blog

We are all radioactive parcels of outgoing love. Remove one object and we beam out to another one. It's surprising, then, given that love is such an abundant commodity, that we manage to be so bad at handling it.

The Raven and the Jackdaw, by Anthony McDonald

Nude Italian Boy, by Henry Scott Tuke (1881)

I'd have to come back sooner or later. And to what? The same old life? But that is precisely what I don't want. I want to start again. A new life. A new beginning...

Now and Then, by William Corlett

Boys Bathing, by Lionel Townsend Crawshaw (1920)

Boys, by Olga Khorosheva (1992)

Part of series “Sommerabend am See” (summer evening on the lake), by Christian Landenberger

Tug of War, by Nikolay Bogdanov-Belsky (date unknown)

To Léon Werth I ask the indulgence of the children who may read this book for dedicating it to a grown-up. I have a serious reason: he is the best friend I have in the world. I have another reason: this grown-up understands everything, even books about children. I have a third reason: he lives in France where he is hungry and cold. He needs cheering up. If all these reasons are not enough, I will dedicate the book to the child from whom this grown-up grew. All grown-ups were once children – although few of them remember it. And so I correct my dedication: To Léon Werth when he was a little boy

The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Boys at the Beach, by Ludwig von Hofmann (1895)

Wrestling Boys, by Oszkár Glatz (1901)

Photo of a swimming pool at the Foro Italico (in Rome), by Islay Lyons.

Llansteffan Castle, Carmarthenshire, Wales.

I have very happy memories of this place.

Why is it that I have had so many friends in the past, and now have lost them all? The reason is simple. They got tired. They liked me; and they pitied my penury; and they gave me little teaspoonsful of help. But friendship is only possible among equals. There must not be any money mixed up with it.

The Venice Letters, by Frederick Rolfe (aka ‘Baron Corvo’)

After all, is not a real Hell better than a manufactured Heaven?

Maurice, by E.M. Forster

One of my favourite scenes from any film (this one being from The Long Day Closes).

Arcadia, by Thomas Eakins (1883)

Escaping Criticism, by Pere Borrell del Caso (1874)

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